


Licht und Schatten

by Himmelreich



Series: Tokyo Ghoul AU [1]
Category: Aldnoah.Zero (Anime), Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, being Slaine is suffering, but don't worry things aren't all bad, in any universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-14 13:50:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4566942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Himmelreich/pseuds/Himmelreich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Light and shadow, white and black, right and wrong. Drawing the line between the two extremes comes naturally to Ghoul Investigator Slaine Troyard. However, when a routine patrol spirals out of control and he is left behind injured, out of all unlikely events the most impossible happens - he is taken in by the very creatures he has sworn to fight. And the longer he stays with No. 1700, the more the lines begin to blur...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Vorspeise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ideallyqualia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ideallyqualia/gifts).



> Dear Volleybird,
> 
> happy rarepair to you! Among all what you had listed as things and scenarios you enjoy in fic, Tokyo Ghoul!AU instantly grabbed my attention. Tokyo Ghoul's world-building is complex and intriguing, and I thought that it would mix well with Aldnoah’s, what with its state of permanent hostility and prejudice between two factions. This fic was the first time I tried my hand at a proper crossover-AU that went beyond minor tweaks to the canon storyline, so I hope it turned out alright!
> 
> It ended up being way longer than I expected it to, so I recommend reading it in portions, chapter by chapter..?
> 
> I will post a comprehensive A/N with additional information after Author's Reveal and link it in the End Notes.
> 
> Thank you very much for giving me the opportunity to write this! Hopefully, you find something about it you enjoy!
> 
> Sincerely, your RPF author.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Vorspeise, die** (noun): _appetiser_

“Don’t let her get away, you idiot!”

Slaine gritted his teeth in frustration at the unnecessary command as he broke into a sprint, adjusting his grip on Tharsis to change its mode and send a hail of bullets after his prey mid-run without losing velocity. The Rat dodged, barely, changing directions abruptly behind the fence and making a dash towards the abandoned factory hall on the left. Slaine made the turn with a slide, casting a glance over his shoulder in Trillram’s direction. His superior was just in that moment sidestepping a hit that would have sliced him in half even with Nilokera’s protective shielding covering most of his body, but Slaine had no time to worry about this fight if he did not want to lose sight of his quarry. 

As he watched the ghoul before him disappear into the darkness lying behind the opened doors of the hall, Slaine suppressed a curse, but kept on running. This whole thing had spiralled out of control. Their assignment on this night had just been a patrol of the ward, but he had given in to the suggestion of his superior to try and follow up a lead on the ghoul that had attacked several Investigators over the past few weeks in other wards, and he had let himself be dragged off their scheduled route into the industrial district where Trillram suspected her lair might be located. They should have had called for backup the moment they had seen her, and followed the standard protocol upon encountering S-ranked ghouls. Instead, Trillram had attacked head-on and Slaine had had no choice but to follow suit if he did not want to be charged with insubordination later on.

Rank One Trillram clearly had been speculating for a promotion to Senior Investigator for catching one of the most wanted ghouls in the whole ward, and Slaine had to admit to himself he, too, had been hoping for an opportunity to prove his dedication to the job. It had been foolish enough to believe they could have won against even just her, but worse, she had not been alone. 

And her affiliate had not been just anyone, but a ghoul wearing the trademark robot-esque mask and hooded shirt of Deucalion, the gang of ghouls in control of this entire district, including among its members the most powerful within the ward. Slaine had been quicker to attack this ghoul with Tharsis’ comparatively light weight and high activation speed, but his hit had slid right off the opponent’s Kouaku-type Kagune, making him stumble past her with the momentum, and while Trillram had still been releasing his Quinque, the Rat had chosen their momentary disorder to make her exit.

Slaine shut his eyes the moment he ran into the shadow to focus on his hearing, and tightened his hold on Tharsis’ grip. He stopped and counted to seven in his head, then peered into the twilight of the hall, trying to acclimate his vision and make out the figure clad in grey amongst the leftover crates and scaffolding. He advanced slowly, one soundless step at a time, his body brimming with adrenaline, preparing for the inevitable attack. 

And then, with no prior warning, the floor caved in beneath his feet.

 

Small chunks of debris and dust falling around him like snow was the first thing he grew aware of, his vision blurry in the darkness surrounding him. His eyes were looking straight up towards the gaping hole in the floor he had fallen through, the little light coming from the windows in the warehouse above barely reaching his current location. 

The second thing that registered with him was the pain numbing his entire body, from the back of his head to his fingertips. The image of a broken spine flashed in his mind’s eye, and in a flurry of panic he tried moving his toes ever so slightly. It hurt, as did everything else, but he could sense the tiniest movement, and the relief was almost enough to cancel out the pain for a second. He attempted to will himself to sit up, then, but his limbs seemed to refuse any cooperation for the moment, and he gave up, shutting his eyes again, concentrating.

The third thing he realised was that it was almost entirely silent in this place, the constant soundscape of the city so far away that he hardly could make it out. But within this building, everything was still, the last rumbling echo of the cave-in fading out until all he could hear was his own, measured breathing, and his frenzied heartbeat loud in his ears.

The meaning of that discovery hit him with a force harder than the concrete moments before. If there was no sound of fighting, it meant his colleague had either fallen, or retreated. Either way, it meant the battle had been lost. It meant he had been abandoned, left for dead, injured and unable to move on enemy territory.

“Aah, look at that, he actually survived.”  
The sudden statement had Slaine flinch, and he knew instantly that he had been found. He looked around in a frenzy, but he could not make out his Quinque anywhere close by. He must have lost it upon impact, leaving him defenceless. It had been one moment of carelessness, the tiniest beginner’s mistake of underestimating his opponent, and the foolishness of following them blindly into what in hindsight had been an obvious trap, realising too late he had failed to keep the words of his instructor at the Academy in mind.  
_Always be wary of possible traps set with detachable Kagune._

The humiliation and anger at himself drowned out the fear as he could hear steps approach now, and the light was blocked out for an instance as two hooded figures jumped down to his level, landing without a sound.

“Wow, that was quite the fall,” Slaine could hear a female voice, muffled by the mask, and he clenched his fists. If he was going to die, it would not be without a fight, and ignoring all protest of his body, he pulled his right arm back in, darting for the gun loaded with Q Bullets stashed in his holster beneath the coat. He had not even made half the distance when something lashed out, locking his wrist in place, and something wrapped painfully tight around his throat.  
_Kagune_ , he thought with fury and disgust.

“I’ll just break his neck,” another female voice, colder in tone than the previous, declared by-the-by, and Slaine squeezed his eyes shut. The Rat herself, the S-Rank that had sent one First Class, three Rank Two and five Rank Three Investigators to the hospital over the past three months with severe injuries, and here she was, alive and well, one more proof Trillram and he had failed. He as the hunter had ended up as the prey, and all he could hope for was that they would leave his body here, satisfied with just killing him, and not-

“Don’t.”

The pressure around his throat and wrist vanished in a split second, and Slaine gasped for air.  
“What the hell was that for?” the Rat yelled, infuriated, but he did not wait for any elaboration on part of the new participant, instead drawing his gun and firing blindly. If he only managed to get one shot at any of them, it would not all have been for nought. There was a blur of movement, and suddenly he felt his arm kicked sideways again, the bullets hitting the wall before he lost his grip on the gun, a clatter on the floor in the distance signifying his utter defeat.

“You can’t kill him. That would be murder.”  
Slaine hissed in pain as the person standing over him kept his arm pinned to the floor with one foot and seemingly no effort, while talking casually to his companions. A male voice, this time, and Slaine turned his head towards him in fury, only to freeze instantly.  
“He almost killed us just now, so it’s practically self-defence! Look at your a-” the Rat complained, obviously annoyed, but it did nothing to impress the other. He cut her off impatiently, voice even but authoritative.  
“He’s wounded and in no state to truly be a threat to us. Killing him now would be nothing but unprovoked slaughter. That’s not what we do.”

“Orange,” Slaine gritted out, staring at the hooded figure now turning its masked face towards him.  
“Is that what the CCG calls me?” the ghoul asked, sounding genuinely curious, but before Slaine could answer that it would be the name written on a file labeled _Killed_ once he would get his hand free again, the second girl chimed in with urgency in her voice.  
“So we’ll just leave him here, fine, but we should get away right now, in case they come back with reinforcements.”

“From how I see it, that other guy has left him behind and ran off,” the Rat observed with a sneer. “Goes to show how much humanity and camaraderie really count for the Doves. Let’s go, maybe they’ll find him, maybe no, and then he’ll wish I had given him a quick death.”  
Trillram was not dead yet, then, Slaine thought and felt his pulse quicken with the turn of events, the tiniest sliver of hope that they might leave him alive after all. He held his breath as Orange tilted his head slightly as if in thought, as much as body language was any indication, set against the utterly blank slate of the mask obscuring his face. 

“I can’t tell if he has any internal wounds that require immediate treatment,” he then stated calmly, “but a fall from that height obviously is dangerous for a human. If he did sustain injuries of that type, he’ll die before anyone will come to his help.”  
“So what? It’s a risk that comes with the job.”  
As much as Slaine hated it, he had to agree with the Rat from an objective point of view, but he watched in confusion as Orange unzipped his hooded jacket and shrugged it off, revealing a plain white shirt beneath.  
“It doesn’t matter if we kill him or leave him here to die, the CCG will think we’re responsible for his death in either case if they return to find his corpse,” he explained, “and that would only get all of us into trouble, our rankings levelled up, and the entire organisation pushed up on the wanted list even higher.”

Slaine blinked when everything went dark as the ghoul suddenly threw the jacket over his face like a blanket over a parrot’s cage, before securing it in place by tying the sleeves around the back of his head. His senses went haywire as he was left in the dark, unable to move, and entirely at the mercy of creatures only considering his life or death a marginal nuisance and point of discussion. A coin toss probably would have better odds at securing his survival.

“Sinir, go and ask the Doctor over to my place. We’ll decide what to do after he has a look at him.”  
“What?!” the Rat snapped at the same time as the other girl spoke up.  
“Ina-,” she interrupted herself with a cough, “Sleipnir, you’re not seriously considering-”  
“Please.”  
Slaine listened, his pulse racing. There was some shuffling and the Rat muttered curses under her breath, and then he could feel the air currents of movement as someone passed by him at high speed, presumably leaving for the floor above.

“Could you help me get him out of here?” he heard Orange ask, and part of his brain refused to process what was happening as the remaining girl let out a long-suffering sigh but approached nonetheless. He felt the both of them carefully pull him into a half-sitting position, and his entire body cramped in pain, but he was unable to do anything about it as in between the two of them, he was picked up as if he weighed nothing.  
“If you try anything funny, I’ll let you fall from up there again,” the girl warned somewhere close to his head, and Slaine did not even have time to react before the sudden motion of them making a jump for the top floor had him nearly pass out.

 

As much as he wished to fight, even just scream out loud in the hope someone, anyone, would come to his help, he barely was able to hold his senses together, slipping in and out of consciousness as he found himself on Orange’s back like a bad caricature of a Shoujo manga heroine, carried through the slightly damp, warm night air down streets to an unknown destination. The world seemed to dissolve at the edges, and all that was still tangible to him was the solid form beneath him, as much as his years of training had the rational part of his brain scream he had to get away from this enemy of humankind as fast as possible. 

He was too exhausted to be able to feel utter terror, but by all accounts he was aware that he should. He was being dragged by an S~-Rank ghoul far away from where he might have gotten help, maybe, and there was no telling what would happen to him from there on. He remembered the rumours he had heard floating around the office, of the experiments conducted by ghouls on humans, and of those that just enjoyed kidnapping living prey for fun of torture. And that was still leaving out the very likely outcome of just ending up eaten, nothing more but a footnote in the files of the CCG.

“You’re heavier than you look,” Orange remarked at some point, taking a short break in his walking to readjust his hold on Slaine’s legs, and Slaine did not have the strength left for any sort of reply.  
_Just let go, then,_ he thought, but the other was already moving again at a steady pace.  
“We’re almost there,” the girl assured from somewhere in front of them, and Slaine wondered if he should just stop fighting the encroaching blackness and give in to unconsciousness entirely, because he was not sure if he wanted to really find out what awaited him.

The sound suddenly changed as they entered what must have been a large building, their steps echoing in the distance, and then walked up a flight of metal stairs.  
“Aah, you’re here, I was just about to go looking for you,” Slaine could hear a man’s voice say right before Orange stepped into a pleasantly cool room, and then once more Slaine felt himself be moved around, biting down on his teeth as not to let out a groan as he was put down on a bed.

“Sinir called me over but refused to stay, saying you’re having one of your crazier ideas and that she wants no part in it,” the man continued blithely, and Slaine felt hands move across his body, unfastening the buttons of his coat and shirt with an air of routine, “and I have to say, bringing a Dove in for treatment is unexpected, even by your standards.”

“Leaving him back there would have been murder,” Orange repeated, and pulled the improvised blindfold from Slaine’s face at last. Slaine blinked against the sudden bright light of the room and just caught a glimpse of Orange as he retreated from his peripheral vision.  
“The correct legal term would be failure to render assistance resulting in death,” the man corrected, and moved his hands to Slaine’s throat. He stilled instantly, half expecting having his neck snapped after all, but the man only checked his pulse for a few seconds.

“Let’s see, then,” he declared, now leaning in over his face, and Slaine noticed the man was not wearing the gang’s typical ghoul attire, but instead only a surgical mask covering the lower half of his face. Slaine was looking up in friendly, deceptively non-red eyes behind glasses as the man gently ran his fingers over Slaine’s temples. “A concussion, of course. Lineal hairline fractures of the skull but no cerebral haemorrhage or swelling, that’s very good. Could you tell me your name, affiliation and today’s date?”  
Slaine opened his mouth automatically to reply.  
“I’m Slaine Troyard, Rank Two Ghoul Investigator with the CCG as a member of Cruhteo’s Squad, and it’s the twentyfith-”  
He stopped when he realised what he was doing, pressing his lips together in anger at being way too giving with information, but the man seemed satisfied, moving on and pressing his fingertips on Slaine’s chest now.

“Hmm. Heartbeat and breathing is normal given the circumstances. No trace of heavy internal bleeding. Fractured ribs, but the lung wasn’t punctured. Hairline fractures to the lumbar vertebrae. You really shouldn’t have moved him from his position, by the way, this might have ended badly in other cases of spinal injuries, Sleipnir.”  
“Sorry.”  
Orange’s voice did not sound particularly so at the criticism, but Slaine was too busy trying to make sense of this entire scenario to care. The ghouls’ actions were incomprehensible to him, as by all logic they should have either killed him or just left him be, but here he was, obviously in some sort of hideout, and being carefully examined at the hands of someone he was now a hundred percent sure could not be human. He had gotten to know a great variety of doctors and scientists back in the day when his father had still been alive, but none with the ability to assess people’s injuries this accurately by bare touching. 

“Left tibia is fractured, as is the left humerus, but neither require surgery. That would have gotten messy.”  
“So in other words, there’s no risk of him dying, right?”  
Slaine craned his aching neck slightly and saw the girl from before sitting on the floor near the door, hood and mask still in place, and she obviously was the far opposite from relaxed and content.  
“No,” the man agreed, pulling his hands back, “he seems like a resilient type, I think he’ll recover entirely in about a month if he rests properly.”

“Great. Then let’s just drop him off in front of the general clinic, they can take care of that,” the girl suggested, standing up, and Slaine was about to thank her inwardly from the bottom of his heart when for the second time this night, Orange had to intervene with a veto.  
“You heard what the Doctor said, he should rest and not be moved around again. We can still drop him off later, for now, let’s just keep him here.”  
“You can’t be serious!”

Slaine ignored the pain in his left arm as he tried to sit up, glaring at Orange who was standing at the foot of his bed.  
“Just let me go,” Slaine rasped out, before swallowing the last of his pride and adding: “Please.”

Whatever the ghoul thought of that, it remained hidden beneath the smooth surface of his mask and Slaine felt himself be gently but insistently pressed back down again by the doctor to his right.  
“Don’t worry,” he said lightly, pushing up the right sleeves of Slaine’s trench coat and shirt beneath, and Slaine felt the cold spray of antiseptic on his skin, “we’re not out to harm you. For now, just rest.”

The sting of the syringe was hardly noticeable over the general level of pain, and as a pleasant tingling numbness began to spread through his body, the last thing on Slaine’s mind was that there had been blood slowly seeping into the white of Orange’s shirt on his left arm.  
_So I managed to at least graze him after all,_ he thought, before falling into the deep dark of nothingness.


	2. Erster Gang

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Erster Gang, der** (noun): _first main course_

“That was barely anything. Try again.”  
Slaine sighed as he quickly scrambled to his feet under the judging stare of his superior, his right arm already numb from all the attacks he had parried.  
“Yes, Sir,” he replied, adjusting his grip on Tharsis and shifting into a defensive stance as he watched Cruhteo take a step back, the whip-type Bikaku Quinque in his right following along his movement as if it was merely an extension of his body.

“The best weapon,” he lectured, and without any warning sign lashed out in a strike aimed at Slaine’s head that he just barely was able to deflect.  
“-won’t help you anything-” Here, Slaine had to resort to a two handed grip to counter the second attack.  
“-if you don’t know-” Slaine sidestepped the hit and managed to pin down the tip the whip on the floor.  
“-how to use it.”  
Cruhteo’s flicked his wrist, and Slaine was too slow to move back as the electric current sparking from LC 1/4 traveled up Tharsis’ blade straight into his hands.

He groaned and let go, his hands throbbing with the aftershocks, the tingling sensation numbing both of his arms up to the shoulder joints. Cruhteo made a dismissive sound, reverting his weapon to its dormant state not unlike a cane and pointed its end at Slaine in obvious accusation.  
“I left Tharsis to you because it is a very balanced Quinque, good both at defence and offence, and you’re still lacking experience in both. But as long as you fall for any obvious trap and feigned weakness, you could just as well go into battle unarmed.”

“Yes, Sir.”  
Slaine bowed and picked up the guard-less sleek blade he had been handed with great pomp and circumstance just yesterday. A vintage piece, really, one of the exploits of the Heaven’s Fall operation from nineteen years in the past, and he was aware that it meant his superior and foster father did think him capable enough an Investigator, despite all what he might say in general.

“Ghouls are deceitful and crafty, don’t ever trust them,” Cruhteo went on, stepping closer now, eyeing Slaine with a strange intensity, and Slaine blinked.  
“I know that,” he replied lamely, but it was not his own voice he heard. Slaine shut his mouth in confusion, but the voice continued.  
“But it’s no real risk as long as we don’t reveal our identities. As I said, you don’t have to take care of him, I will.”  
Slaine looked over his shoulder, but no-one was there, and when he turned back to ask Cruhteo if he could hear the voice as well, he suddenly found the room entirely empty.

“The Captain agreed to this, so please stop worrying. Yes, I’ll call you should anything happen,” the voice went on, and flash of pain flared in Slaine’s head as he dropped back to his knees, hands pressed against his eyes in a futile attempt to dull the throbbing sensation nestled behind. He had heard that voice before, but the memory slipped through his fingers like water as sudden nausea overcame him.

 _This is not real_ , he suddenly realised, and when he opened his eyes again, he was staring at a concrete ceiling. Something warm and liquid trickled from his forehead across his temple, and Slaine jerked his head away on reflex, a movement which had him groan with pain instantly. A moment later, someone was at his side.

“Oh, you’re finally awake,” the voice from before stated needlessly, and when Slaine turned his head, he looked into the blank surface of a familiar orange robotic mask. The memories came back all at once like a crashing wave, and Slaine had to squeeze his eyes shut again against the intensity of it. He barely registered Orange reaching out to pick up the warmed-up damp towel from his forehead.  
“I was beginning to worry,” the ghoul went on, and Slaine felt a cooler, new towel placed over his eyes. It was a pleasant relief, but taking his vision once again. He tried to assess his position regardless.

He was still lying in the same room as before, and trying to move his limbs ever so slightly told him that for one, all of them were still attached to his body, and also, some time must have passed as someone had since splinted his left arm and leg. Around his right wrist, he was able to make out the feeling of some form of rope, secured against the frame of the bed.  
“Precaution,” he heard Orange say, who was obviously watching him closely, “in case I shouldn’t have been here when you woke up and you’d try to run. You really shouldn’t, in your state.”  
“How long have I-,” Slaine managed to bring out, his throat dry and every syllable an effort.  
“You’ve been sleeping for a good two days,” Orange informed him, and Slaine felt the rim of a glass pressed against his lips. “Drink.”

Slaine complied with the order automatically, nearly choking twice, until he pressed his head back into the cushions and Orange put the glass away.  
“How are you feeling?” he then asked matter-of-factly, no trace of the alleged worry in his voice, and Slaine could not hold back a laugh he instantly regretted as his bruised and broken ribs protested against the vibration.  
“I’m unable to move and entirely defenceless at a ghoul’s mercy, what do you think,” he replied with less bite than he had hoped. It was a struggle with his left arm in the splint, but he managed to push up the towel from his eyes.

Drinking had helped clear his head a little, and he could focus more on his surroundings this time. Orange was sitting on a chair next to the nightstand to his right, dressed in a dark hooded jacket and his usual orange mask. Behind him, Slaine could make out a small desk, a bookshelf, a wardrobe. There was no window in the room, instead a ventilation system somewhere above his head was giving off a constant humming sound, and the only way in and out was the door on the left wall.

“Nothing’s going to happen to you here, you have my word,” Orange finally replied, and Slaine turned his focus back towards him.  
“And why should I trust that?”  
Orange only shrugged, stood up and turned for the door.  
“Trust me or don’t trust me, that’s up to you, but I’m not lying.”  
And with that, he left, shutting the door behind him, and Slaine remained with nothing but his own racing thoughts.

He had to get out of this situation as fast as possible, somehow, but even with all optimism, it was obvious to see that he would be unable to move far for a longer period of time. Contacting the outside and call for help, then, he decided, but looking down at himself, he realised that at some point, he had been stripped off his work clothes and put into shorts and an old t-shirt in order to accommodate the splints. His mobile phone along with all his other possessions was nowhere to be seen. He reached up to his chest on reflex, and was relieved to feel that his amulet was still in place, at least. Not that it would be of any use in this situation, though.

Slaine closed his eyes again in desperation, wondering what he had done wrong to deserve this type of fate. He had been in too dazed a state the night before to be able to pay closer attention to any sounds that might have given away the location of this place, and the room he was in now was entirely nondescript, too. Until he would be able to move, he had no chance whatsoever at even finding out where exactly he would have to run from, and until then, there was nothing to do but give in and hope his captors would not reconsider their stance.

He had already begun to wonder if Orange would leave him alone until Slaine had gone back to sleep when the door opened again, and the ghoul entered, balancing a tray in front of him.  
“You need to eat,” he elaborated as he set down the tray on the nightstand, and Slaine’s entire body tensed up.  
“No!”  
The vehemence and panic in his voice surprised even himself, and Orange stilled for a moment, before he seemed to catch on.

“It’s not human meat.”  
Him uttering what had instantly sprung to life as nightmarish, barely formed images in the the back of Slaine’s mind had his empty stomach heave with sickness all the more, but Orange just sat down again.  
“It’s plain Miso soup.”  
When Slaine remained frozen in place, fighting his sudden surge of panic, Orange sighed.  
“You need to eat. Can you do it yourself, or do I need to feed you by force?”

The thought of him succumbing to such utter helplessness had Slaine snap back into it and he shook his head. Whatever little dignity and agency he had left, he would try to maintain at all cost.  
“I can.”  
“Good.”

Orange untied the rope with quick movements, and leaned back in his chair as Slaine slowly first shook feeling back into his hand, and then picked up the spoon to scoop up a bit of the soup that looked harmless and ordinary enough. He pushed past his mental block, because in this situation, all he could do was trust Orange’s assurance, refusal not an option, because Slaine had no illusions whatsoever that Orange was stronger and could very well make good on his threat to force him. Slaine shut his eyes and swallowed, trying not to taste and think anything at all.

“I have some practice in preparing human food, and am told it’s edible in general,” Orange supplied unprompted, keenly observing Slaine as far as that was possible to determine without seeing his face, at least, but Slaine did not reply, keeping on trying to eat without letting his mind register what he was doing. “If you find there’s any spices lacking, tell me. I obviously can’t taste it myself, so I’m entirely reliant on the feedback others give me. That’s not particularly helpful, though, because it seems everyone of you has their own preferences.”

Slaine finished his meal in silence, immediately afterwards reaching for the glass of water to rinse his mouth, as the tiniest doubt was still lingering in his mind. If he frustrated Orange with his actions and lack of response was impossible to tell, and frankly, Slaine did not care.

“Aah, right, before I forget: Do you have any food allergies?” Orange asked suddenly, and Slaine nearly choked on the water.  
“Not as far as I know,” he brought out in between coughs, and Orange nodded.  
“Well, you’ll be here for a while, so I should know what not to give you. We’ve gone through to much trouble to have you die here over a bit of crayfish or something ridiculously random like that.”

There was obvious incomprehension for human biology and its weaknesses in his voice and Slaine would have laughed at the absurdity of it if not for the fact that Orange was right in that his life literally depended on his captor not poisoning him. In order to eventually be able to bite the hand that was now feeding him, Slaine first had to gather his strength, and he could not do so while starving to death.

He had barely put the glass back on the tray when he suddenly noticed that something was off, a warm numbness spreading throughout his limbs, clouding his mind.  
“You!” he tried to snap, his voice sluggish already. “What did you give me?!”  
His half-hearted attempt at grabbing the person next to him with his uninjured hand ended with Orange simply pushing him back into the mattress.  
“Sleep,” he ordered, and Slaine wished he had even just a splinter of Tharsis left to cut this bastard’s throat.

 

He woke up from a dreamless slumber this time, and with his body still agreeably numb, to the rhythmic sound of pen scribbling on paper. Slaine opened his eyes, trying to turn his head without making a sound, and spotted Orange sitting at the desk this time, bent over some paperwork in deep concentration. From his position, Slaine could only see the other’s back, the mask lying on a stack of books. If only he could move ever so slightly, he thought grimly, and get a look at the ghoul’s visage, so that the CCG could put a face to the name and hunt him down more effectively once he got that information to them-

The writing stopped abruptly.  
“Good morning,” Orange said, his even voice less muffled than usual, but he was already reaching out to put on his mask. A ghoul’s senses were superior to a human’s after all, no wonder he had noticed, Slaine had to admit to himself in silent disappointment. There was little he could do, and every interaction so far had been a reminder of just that.  
“Is it?” he asked dryly. “I couldn’t tell what time of day it is, or what day, for that matter. Being drugged repeatedly does that to you.”  
“You’re upset I gave you painkillers,” Orange observed, turning around to face him. He sounded remotely confused.

“Trusting you will come hard if you continue to knock me out, you see.”  
“If I’d handed you the pills as they were, you would never have taken them, hoping to do gain something by staying awake. So I took the liberty of administering them myself.”  
Slaine simply glared at where he suspected the other’s eyes to be behind the probably one-way see-through material of the mask.  
“The Doctor told me to make sure you sleep, because the more you rest, the sooner you can leave.”

Slaine sat up, slowly and carefully. The movement made him realise very suddenly and prominently a different problem. He felt his neck flush in embarrassment and indignity.  
“You wouldn’t happen to have a bathroom available?”  
Orange got up wordlessly and helped Slaine get back on his feet with surprising gentleness and caution. Standing with the splint was a wobbly affair, and Slaine stabilised himself by holding on to Orange’s shoulder automatically. In the close proximity on even ground, he now noticed for the first time the ghoul was shorter and even slenderer than him, despite the incredible amount of force Slaine very well knew he possessed.

“Please be quiet,” Orange instructed him as they hobbled for the door and stepped out into a small corridor with three other closed doors leading to different rooms, and one open doorway giving view to a small kitchen. “My sister’s still sleeping.”  
Slaine cast a surprised glance at Orange at that, but even from this close it was impossible to gauge his emotional state.  
“Sister?” he asked in a hushed voice, but Orange moved on wordlessly towards the door on the opposite side.

Stepping into the small tiled room, Slaine checked, and indeed, there were two toothbrushes and a variety of clearly female beauty products on the counter. His mind automatically went through the annoyingly vague and incomplete list the CCG had managed to compile on Deucalion so far based on eyewitness accounts and reports given by captured ghouls in other wards, and he remembered a second, similar Bikaku-type that had been spotted alongside Orange multiple times. The Kagune marks hat suggested some sort of relation, but had not been clear enough to make sure. Keeping in mind what Orange had just said, that meant No. 1677 was his sister, and Slaine felt a rush of excitement as he realised that should he make it out of this predicament alive, he might be able to return to the CCG with valuable new intel.

He was torn from his hopeful musings when Orange shut the door behind him, leaning against the wall, waiting demonstratively.

“You’re going to stay?” Slaine asked in disbelief. Different from the other room, the bath had a small opal glass window, but Slaine doubted he could fit through even if he was not injured, so escaping hazard could hardly be the danger at hand.  
“In your state, you might faint and crack your head on the tiles or something,” Orange explained. “I’ve un- and redressed you before, but if it bothers you that much, I can leave.”  
Slaine’s answer must have shown clearly on his face, because Orange left without another word. 

 

“Why are you going through so much trouble, keeping me alive?” Slaine asked once back in the room, over a cup of coffee and a bowl of rice with fried vegetables Orange had brought him. Guaranteed without any meat whatsoever, as he had assured Slaine unprompted this time.  
The ghoul seemed to consider his reply for a bit, absentmindedly rubbing his left upper arm.

“Counter question,” he then began, “what do you know about this organisation?”  
Slaine lowered his chopsticks and narrowed his eyes.  
“So you’ve been meaning to keep me alive only in order to interrogate me about your enemy, I should have-”

“No,” Orange interrupted him, “that wasn’t the goal of my question. In order to make you understand why I do what I do, I first need to know what you think it is what I’m doing.”  
Slaine debated internally if an answer to that question could potentially reveal anything about either the CCG internal affairs or him that was not general knowledge, or if it could be any other sort of trick question. _Ghouls are deceitful and crafty, don’t ever trust them_ Cruhteo’s words rang in his memory, but no matter how he looked at it, he could not find anything dangerous about making clear just why he despised this group so much.

“You’re a group killing humans and ghouls alike, so don’t you dare ever mentioning lacking integrity to me ever again,” Slaine started with conviction. “You first appeared about seven years ago in the eastern wards, but you’ve only fairly recently started aggressive expansion. By now, your territory spans across at least three wards that we know of, and whatever strong faction of your own kind you meet, you eradicate with no mercy. Also, members of your group have attacked Investigators before, like Rat, who you clearly have under protection now.”

Orange listened without any obvious reaction, and Slaine clenched his right hand hard enough for the wood to break.  
“And you, you’ve almost killed my superior three weeks ago,” he added viciously. “Given his injuries, it’s unclear if he’ll ever recover.”

“Three weeks ago,” Orange said slowly, and Slaine already wondered if this creature had killed so many people in this short span of time that he did not even remember this specific case, but he was proven wrong on at least one account as Orange continued: “The dual-sword wielding Investigator. He came after me unprovoked, and I acted in self-defence. We never attack first, but if you try to kill us, we’ll make sure to stop you with as much force as necessary, that’s all.”

Slaine tossed the broken chopsticks on the tray and shook his head at how entirely devoid of any pity, but also any obvious glee that statement had been uttered. He had visited First Class Vlad in hospital together with Cruhteo two days after the incident, and had overheard in horror how the doctor had told his foster father in a low voice that Vlad had only very narrowly escaped with his life, yet lost use of his entire left arm together with his eyesight on the same side, and that most likely, his time of active duty would be at an end.

This specific attack had caused No. 1700’s rating to be officially raised to S~-rank, the second affiliated with that group so far after No. 1543, a survivor of the Heaven’s Fall raid. Given the uniform outfits and masks, it had been hard to distinguish individual members in the past, but those that had had closer contact with CCG or Ghoul Investigators had always shown absurd fighting power. The fact they had taken in the S-ranked Rat really should have come as no surprise in hindsight. Catching her before had been a difficult task, but now with all of Deucalion involved, it would be near impossible without a large-scale operation, and Slaine cold only bitterly laugh inwardly at the misguided arrogance with which Trillram and he had charged into their own defeat head-first.

When Vlad had regained consciousness after two weeks in an artificial coma, he had told Cruhteo about the ghoul who had attacked him. Among the grey coloured masks of Deucalion, he stood out as the only one with colour, and despite being of the rather average Bikaku class, he had managed to completely destroy Vlad’s Quinque and escape without leaving a single trace. “Orange” had become a high priority prey, and here he was sitting calmly next to Slaine, treating the incident that had nearly cost a good man’s life as a mere unjustified assault on his person.

“Of course he would attack you, you’re a ghoul after all!” Slaine snapped. “It’s our duty to stop you from harming humans, so of course we’ll always fight you!”  
“Even if you don’t know if that specific ghoul you’re attacking is harming humans at all?”  
“You _eat_ humans!”  
“That doesn’t necessarily mean I kill them.”

Slaine frowned at this apparent contradiction. Orange had not raised his voice, but there had been a very decisive undertone to it, which remained as he continued.  
“Most of what you’ve said about Deucalion is correct, with one major exception: We do not hunt down humans or ghouls for food. We might interfere in some cases with criminals disrupting the order in our territory, but even then, we don’t kill and eat them. In the same vein, we don’t attack you Doves unless you come after us, first.”  
“Then how-”  
Slaine found himself unable to finish the sentence, feeling sick at the mere thought, but Orange obviously had understood.

“I suppose you can think of us as scavengers, like vultures or hyenas. A lot of humans die every day of natural causes and accidents, and all you do with their bodies is burn them for reasons of tradition, religion, and convenience. It would be enough to feed our kind and stop us from having to kill.”  
“Of course we wouldn’t leave our deceased loved ones to be abused as a food source for demons like you!”  
This time, Slaine managed to grab a hold of the ghoul’s hooded jacket when he reached out, digging his fingers into the fabric and trying to shake him. Despite his looks, Orange still was four to seven times stronger, and barely budged.

“You turn our deceased loved ones into weapons to kill us with,” he said softly, and Slaine froze in place. Naturally, he was aware of what Quinque were, and he also knew that there had been cases where Investigators had purposefully used models fashioned of former allies against their current prey in an attempt to crush their morale or goad them into blind fury. It had never been something he had thought much about, but now, hearing Orange’s voice tinted with a quiet sadness, he suddenly could not help but empathise with the utter horror ghouls must feel in these situations. Orange’s sister was still alive, but Slaine wondered if these siblings had faced off against a weapon made off their parents’ or grand-parents’ remains before.

“It’s because we don’t have any other method of defence against you creatures,” he tried to justify himself self-consciously, but he let go of Orange’s shirt, all anger lost in the confusion this sudden spark of empathy had caused him.  
“I know. In the end, until we find a different way, both of our kind are hypocrites in that regard, aren’t we? And yet-”

Orange interrupted himself when there was a soft knock on the door, and without waiting for an invitation, No. 1677 entered. She was wearing business clothes, the hooded jacket thrown over in obvious afterthought, but the grey mask was in place.  
“We’ll be late,” she stated vaguely, and Slaine saw Orange check the time on his mobile phone before he let out a very quiet curse, getting to his feet and grabbing a messenger bag from his desk.  
“We’ll continue talking about this later,” he called back towards Slaine, who was watching the sudden hurry with a certain amount of wariness, and then Orange was already out of the door.

“We won’t be away for long, Mr Dove,” No. 1677 announced, sounding clearly unhappy about the fact of having to talk to him at all. “I’ll leave this door open, feel free to help yourself to what’s in the kitchen. The front door is locked and there’s no neighbours to this apartment, so don’t waste your energy trying to call for help.”  
“Understood,” he replied automatically, and the woman nodded. She had already turned to leave when she seemed to remember something. “One more thing - if you try to harm my brother in any way or form, I’ll kill you personally.”

Slaine did not try to point out that as much as he would like to, at the moment he was absolutely incapable of doing anything of that sort to Orange.  
“I’m in your care”, was all he offered dryly in reply.


	3. Zwischengericht

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Zwischengericht, das** (noun): _dish served in between main courses_

Slaine counted to one thousand in his mind before he he decided that the siblings really had left. Biting down on his teeth, he got up and started investigating the room. Whatever Orange had been writing earlier, he had taken with him, and the desk offered little but average office supplies. The books on the shelf were entirely of the non-fiction variant, including encyclopaedias, kanji and English-Japanese dictionaries, a selection of books on natural sciences, and for some reason a copy of Sun Tzu’s _The Art of War_. While some of the books had page markers in them, Slaine found no personal notes, and Orange had sadly not written his name in any of them, either. He hobbled on to the wardrobe. His verdict after a quick inventory was similar - non-personal and practical clothing style, with no uniforms or name tags that could have helped him identify his captor’s public identity. 

Stepping out into the corridor, he half-heartedly tried the exit, but as he had been told, it was locked, and the door looked solid enough he probably would not even have been able to kick it in if he had not been injured. He moved on, hesitating a second in front of the sister’s room before mentally scolding himself that etiquette was the last thing he had to worry about in this situation, and tried the handle. This time, he was almost relieved to find it locked. 

Skipping the bathroom, he made for the kitchen, which sported a similar small opaque window. The general layout of the place, and his vague memories of an echoing hall when he had been brought here, had Slaine think of offices built within storehouses, and he was almost certain he was correct in his assumption. Ghouls tended to inhabit abandoned buildings and factories and the like, which meant most likely Orange’s sister had not lied about there being no neighbours nearby, either. 

He had not found his belongings, which probably were stashed in the locked room, and with a sigh, Slaine leaned himself against the kitchen counter, trying to think. As things were, he only saw two ways out of this place. Either he had to wait until Orange made good on his promise to let him go, or he had to hope the CCG would not just apathetically sit back and accept one of their agents going missing, and would come to his aid. Right now, he would gladly listen to a two hour scolding of Cruhteo’s if only that meant him getting out of this predicament.

In any case, for now he was left with nothing but waiting time, and Slaine focussed back on the things at hand, turning to investigate the kitchen’s contents. He found the very basic necessities for human cuisine, hardly used from the looks of it, and unsurprisingly a large variety of coffee products, from instant powder to iced coffee in the fridge. The latter, he only was able top open after steeling himself for several minutes, but to his great relief, no meat whatsoever was being stored there. Next to the stove, he spotted a small notebook, and flipping through the pages, he discovered it was recipes, written out in agonising analytical detail for someone who could not taste what he was preparing. The handwriting was orderly and neat, the language technical and rather high-register, but occasionally, there had been additions scribbled on the margins.

_According to Nina, this is too much salt (also it’s better to put in the spices before frying because “something about pores closing”)_

_“No-one actually likes sprouts” (Calm)  
ed.: Nina disagrees?? Need more comparative data_

_ask people about how spicy they like curry before preparing it (still put less chilli in it than they say they can stomach, they usually try to look tough (Calm))_

Slaine had to suppress a fit of laughter at that last one, barely catching himself, noticing what he was doing. His eyes got caught on another scribble at the bottom of the same page:

_Note: If you go for a more liquid texture, it’s very easy to swallow and you don’t need to fake chewing. Convenient for beginners when eating with humans._

Slaine stared at the words for a long time. It had been obvious from the cooking tips from humans already, but this notebook was testament to how hard these ghouls tried to blend in with society. Slaine involuntary wondered about these Nina and Calm people, and if they were in any danger, or even still alive as of this moment. Getting close to ghouls was dangerous and almost always ended badly if one did not manage to contact the CCG in time. 

Orange had told him that Deucalion did not prey on living humans, but Slaine had no way to check if that was actually true. There had still been corpses of ghoul victims found in the wards occupied by this group, and while admittedly, it were fewer than before their appearance, that proved nothing. Slaine put the book back, his decision clear. He would manage to get out of this alive, and would make certain just what was the deal with Deucalion. And what he needed to do in order to achieve that was as absurd as it was evident: He needed to gain Orange’s trust.

 

The clock on the kitchen wall told him six hours had passed when he heard steps on the staircase outside, and moments later the key being turned in the door.  
“I’m back,” Orange declared, probably more out of habit than anything else.  
“I’m in the kitchen,” Slaine called back, although the automatic _Welcome back_ was on his tongue on reflex, almost.

“You should be resting in bed,” was the first thing Orange said upon entering the room, and his tone was reproachful.  
“I can’t lie around all day, I’d go stir-crazy.”  
That was not a lie, since Slaine could not remember the last time he had spent a day without doing anything, really, ever since he had been adopted by Cruhteo’s family. The training he had received before even joining the Academy had become routine, and even now he was itching to do something.

“You tell that the doctor, then. It’s not my fault,” Orange declared with a shrug, and placed a plastic shopping bag on the counter. “I brought a convenience store meal for you, so you can be really sure I’m not doing anything to it. If you want something else for the next days, tell me.”  
He opened the fridge, putting the food inside and taking an iced coffee out, and Slaine had time to collect himself enough to reply earnestly and with an amicable smile: “Thank you very much, Orange.”

He saw Orange flinch, then turn towards him, and Slaine knew instinctively the other was frowning beneath the mask.  
“It’s weird, being called that,” he said, sitting down on the chair on the opposite of side of the small table, absentmindedly shaking the coffee.  
“Well, your official ID in the CCG’s records is No. 1700, but that’s a mouthful,” Slaine said lightly. Orange had wanted to know about this, he remembered, and it was cheap information to give. “And since you’re the only one of Deucalion with a differently coloured mask, it was an obvious nicknaming choice.”

Orange gave no reply as he pushed up his mask up just far enough to allow him to take a sip of his drink. He did not reveal much, Slaine noted, apart from the fact that he no beard and what probably qualified as a nice jawline if one cared for such things.  
“Most ghouls go for unique masks,” Slaine continued, tone as if he was making normal smalltalk, “but I see how the uniformity has its merits. We can’t tell you apart until you use your Kagune in characteristic fashion, after all, so it’s hard to predict who the Investigators are up against. You standing out in particular had some speculate you’re the leader, but you’re not.”

It was an observation, not a question, and Orange put the cup down, obviously considering his reply.  
“I’m not,” he then confirmed.  
“You’re a decoy, or a mark,” Slaine tried with a smile.  
“Maybe.”

For a while, they sat in silence only disrupted by the constant ticking of the clock above them on the wall. Slaine tried to recollect the bits and pieces of information that had been revealed to him, inadvertently, as they were. He knew Orange reported to someone called The Captain, and suddenly he remembered he had heard Orange’s handle among his companions before.  
“If you dislike Orange, I can of course call you something else. Your alias here is Sleipnir, isn’t it?”  
“You’re a sharp one. I hadn’t expected you would remember much from that night, given the state you were in.”

Orange took another sip, and he seemed fairly unperturbed by his misjudgement. Slaine swallowed his comment that since he was an Investigator of Cruhteo’s squad who had graduated from the First Academy as best of his class, it was only natural for him to notice such things, and that Orange should not underestimate him. But that of course was the opposite of what he wanted to achieve.  
“I only remember bits and pieces,” he lied instead. “You mentioned a Sinir, too, and Deucalion - names picked from mythology?”

“The Captain chose that naming system. I’ve never asked why, it’s as good as any, I suppose. Maybe that person just really likes horses and mythology in general.” Orange finished his drink, throwing the empty container into the sink without looking away from Slaine. To the latter’s frustration, the ghoul did not miss. “You calling me that would be weird, as well. You can call me Inaho.”  
Slaine blinked, caught off guard. He had not assumed to actually be able to get the other to reveal that much, but at the same time, he of course had to consider the possibility that it was a fake name. And even if not, there were countless ways of writing it, so it would not be of much use in trying to find him in public data bases.

“Inaho,” he repeated. “I’m Sl-”  
“Slaine Troyard, yes, I know. You’ve told us.”  
Slaine smiled in order to stop himself from pointing out that it was rude to interrupt someone’s introduction. Instead, he said: “Just Slaine is fine.”  
“You’re young for a Rank 2 Investigator, aren’t you?”  
Most likely they had checked his ID within the wallet, Slaine thought with a flare of annoyance.

“How fast you’re promoted depends both on your grades and on your work. It helps if someone of the higher-ups vouches for you, too, or if you have relatives in the bureau.”  
“Are you from a family of Investigators, then?”  
“I was adopted by one when I was ten.”  
“What happened to your parents?” Inaho clearly was no person to be very concerned about tact, asking a near stranger so bluntly about a possibly tragic event, Slaine noticed. “Were they-”

“They weren’t killed by ghouls, no, even though that’s a common reason for many recruits to join the CCG.”  
Slaine reached up to pull out his father’s amulet form beneath his shirt without much thinking, glancing down at the blue cross in the centre as he went on. “My father worked as a medical researcher for the CCG. He died from an illness. He and my mother had divorced much earlier, and I was taken in by one of the Investigators who had been a friend of my father.” 

_Friend_ was stretching the definition of the term, it had rather been the Vers family straight up ordering Cruhteo to take in what they considered a promising talent, but that was unnecessary detail.  
“I’m sorry to hear that, but I’m glad that you didn’t lose your father to a ghoul. It’s always sad to hear the stories of the children and loved ones that get left behind.”

Inaho might just have been worried about Slaine being driven by vengeance and blind to reasoning, but he sounded genuine about what he said.  
For the first time, really, Slaine wondered about whether his family might be worried about him. The first 72 hours that were considered the most important to find a lead on a missing person had already passed, and for all he knew, there had been no traces left behind at the scene of his abduction. Cruhteo of course would have been informed, but Slaine was not sure if his adopted father would bring the matter up to his son who was still at the Academy, or even go out of his way to contact Slaine’s mother. Thinking they might not know was unpleasant, and Slaine decided not to dwell on the notion.

“What about you and your sister?” he asked instead. So far, their conversation had been quid pro quo, and given that he had just revealed most of his personal background, he was expecting Inaho to return the favour.  
“Both of our parents got killed by Doves during the Heaven’s Fall raid,” Inaho said, tone completely neutral, and Slaine thought for a second he must have misheard.

“Then why are you letting me live? Shouldn’t you have all the reason to hate us?”  
“It wasn’t your fault, so why should I take it out on you?” Inaho stretched his arms casually, and Slaine shook his head in bewilderment. He could hardly believe this person was able to speak of loss in such a level tone. Inaho seemed to be young, going by his voice and figure, so he had probably no clear memories of his parents if they had truly died nineteen years ago, but still, the calm and rational attitude he showed was foreign to someone as naturally empathetic as Slaine.

“Deucalion is founded on the belief that one day, we can achieve co-existence,” Inaho then went on, motioning back and forth between Slaine and himself for emphasis. “If we hold grudges against each other on mere principle, we’ll never be able to move forward. We need to understand that we don’t have to be enemies, that ghouls don’t have to kill to survive, and that you don’t have to attack our kind without having a valid reason. If we keep up senselessly killing each other, this conflict will escalate until one group is eradicated or decimated to the point of having to surrender.”

“That’s why you’re keeping me here,” Slaine said slowly, realising that his attempt at making Inaho trust him had only worked in so far as the other had intended it to go to make his point clear. “You want to see if you can make me buy your philosophy.”  
“I brought you here because I didn’t want to risk your death, but I also saw the opportunity of trying to talk to someone from the CCG in peace. It’s hard to strike up a conversation when your first instinct is to try and kill us, you see.”

Inaho had not pulled the mask back down, and Slaine saw the corners of his mouth twitch into a smile. This person was impossible to understand, Slaine decided, because this was such a naive reasoning that it was hard to reconcile with the objective analysis and utilitarian mindset before.  
“Even if you should manage to convince me all what you’re saying about this organisation is true, it won’t change the CCG’s policies even in the slightest,” Slaine said, carefully. 

“No, but it’s a start. Changing the minds of veterans that have seen too much suffering already is hard, but the younger generation might not have gone blind from hate just yet.”  
Inaho got up, pulling his mask back down.  
“If I get you to believe me, that’s more than enough.”


	4. Zweiter Gang

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Zweiter Gang, der** (noun): _second main course_

Living with the siblings had quickly evolved into an odd sort of surveillance for Slaine. It was something to keep his mind occupied and focussed just as much as it by now was second nature to him to pay close attention to his surroundings.

Inaho himself kept odd hours, sometimes leaving before dawn, sometimes spending the entire day at home, sometimes staying out until late in the night. He returned in very different states of tiredness too, as Slaine noticed, from plain weary to obvious utter physical exhaustion, and he could draw his conclusions from that. Given that Inaho ranked among the strongest in Deucalion, he would be the one taking the difficult jobs that involved actual fighting. His general life seemed to be vastly different, still.

“What are you working on?” Slaine had asked on the fourth day, looking over from his place on the bed to Inaho sitting at the desk, books scattered around him. As he had assumed, Slaine was staying in Inaho’s room, and upon asking his host, Inaho had said he was as of now sleeping on a futon in his sister’s room. _We used to share a room in the past, so I don’t mind_ , he had assured him, and Slaine had admitted to himself that he was feeling better knowing he did not sleep right next to a ghoul. Once Slaine was awake, however, Inaho mostly spent his time around him.

“Assignments,” had been the monosyllabic answer.  
Slaine hat gotten up on his feet with a bit of effort and hobbled to the desk to look over Inaho’s shoulder. He was in close enough proximity to theoretically try and tear off mask and hood with a fast move, but he had no doubt that he would be pierced by a Kagune before he had even gotten that far.

Looking over the notebooks and worksheets, Slaine had seen his vague assumption based no the others approximate age and routines confirmed.  
“You’re a university student, aren’t you?”  
“Sciences and engineering,” Inaho had agreed with a sigh, leaning back in his chair and stretching his arms, nearly hitting Slaine in the face in the process. He could not tell if it had been on purpose, but he had been too distracted by the equation Inaho had been currently working on to care.  
“That’s highly complex, isn’t it? I had to deal with similar problems at the Academy. It was never my forte, I have to admit.”

To his surprise, Inaho had chuckled lightly.  
“I didn’t think you learn something but Counter Ghoul Laws and fighting techniques at the Academy,” he had said, lowering his arms again and pulling out a second copy of the same sheet from his bag. “Why don’t we try and see who has it solved first, then?”  
Slaine had politely declined the challenge.

“You’re free to consult any of the books here if you’re bored at any time,” Inaho had said after a brief pause, and Slaine had wondered if that had been a post-event permission for him to rifle through all of Inaho’s belongings in the room. The ghoul seemed sharp enough that it had probably not escaped his attention.

Slaine had not replied to the offer immediately, busy memorising the worksheets and books. Inaho had not given the name of his university, but with every bit of information he revealed, and be it just the name of another student on a presentation handout, Slaine had more puzzle pieces he would eventually be able to put together, unveiling the civil identity of the ghoul.  
“Thanks, I’ll consider it,” he had said, maybe a bit too late. If Inaho had noticed, he had not shown it openly.

Inaho’s sister, in comparison, left and came at a more regular schedule than her brother, and while she clearly tried to keep the contact with Slaine at a minimum, she was kind towards him whenever they did meet. One evening in the first week after him regaining consciousness, when Inaho had been out doing whatever it was he did, Slaine had suffered from a surge in temperature, and she had spent the entire night at his side, making sure he drank enough water.

As compensation, Slaine took up the habit of making coffee on the days that Inaho was still out and about when she returned.  
“You’re a pretty okay person for Dove,” she had said at some point, walking past him and patting him on the shoulder, and Slaine had smiled and replied nothing. Somewhere in the back of his mind he had wondered if they were truly trusting him, or if this, too, was only a facade they kept up, a lie pretending to be a truth.

Ever since that conversation in the kitchen on the first day, neither Slaine nor Inaho had addressed the topic of Inaho wishing to convince Slaine of his good intentions. More than that, they both seemed to avoid it, the little conversation they had throughout the day being superficial and polite in tone.

It had been eight days Slaine had already spent alternating between Inaho’s room and the kitchen, reading books and adding his own annotations to Inaho’s cooking guide as per invitation, when Inaho returned in the afternoon with company.

The moment Slaine heard more than two pair of feet on the steps outside, he snapped to full alert, sitting up in the bed and fixing his eyes on the door.  
“I’m back,” Inaho announced, and moments later, he entered the room, three other people following suit.

Ghouls, Slaine instantly corrected himself when he saw the familiar grey masks on two of them, a woman and a man respectively, wearing hooded cloaks in lieu of the more average jackets Slaine had seen the other members in. He instantly assumed them to be higher ranking. The third, he recognised instantly.

“How are you feeling?” the doctor asked with a smile, obvious both in his voice and his eyes, as he walked up to Slaine’s bed, hands casually in the pockets of his lab coat. He stood out among the dark shapes of the other Deucalion members in literal contrast, but Slaine still felt wary around him.  
“Better, thank you,” he replied, forcing himself not to glance at the other visitors, and the man hummed in approval. Then, he reached out as he had on that first night, trailing his hands lightly over Slaine’s temples.

“You’re injuries seem to be healing well, that’s great” he assessed, and Slaine was acutely aware of the other three people in the room watching. “I noticed it during my first examination already, but you’ve got quite the history of injuries, don’t you?”  
Slaine flinched, but the doctor did not seem bothered by it.  
“I can tell where your bones and ligaments have healed, you see. Once they’ve been damaged, they’ll never quite return to their original state, no matter how good your healing factor is.”

“Figures that a Dove’s training is tough,” Slaine heard the man of the duo speak up, a low and rough voice, but the tone was casual and closer to appreciation than dismissal. “If they want to fight someone stronger than a human, they have to become strong themselves.”  
“How do you know these things?” Slaine could not help but ask, and the doctor met his eyes.  
“It’s a special talent, I suppose. Though it also helps that naturally no-one knows human anatomy more, hm,” he paused for a moment, before continuing in the same soft tone and with another smile, “inside-out than a ghoul.”

Slaine froze beneath his touch.  
“Don’t scare the kid, doctor,” the man chimed in again, and Slaine’s eyes darted to where he was leaning against the wall next to Inaho, arms crossed in front of his chest. “Don’t let him get to you, he is a legitimate doctor, and he doesn’t kill his patients or anything.”  
The doctor laughed.  
“Excuse me,” he said lightly, stepping away from Slaine . “The past is the past, and as of now, you can trust everyone affiliated with Deucalion sticks to the rule that killing humans is off limits.”

“It’s not as if you specialised in hunting humans in the first place,” the man sighed, and Slaine felt a whole new level of dread kick in belatedly. If it had not been humans, it had been ghouls, and he had seen the teaching materials on what happened to ghouls succumbing to cannibalism.

“I’m glad to hear you’re recovering, Slaine Troyard,” the woman interrupted the banter, her voice practically oozing natural authority, and Slaine automatically looked at Inaho in silent question.

“Slaine, that’s the Captain, the founder and leader of Deucalion,” he confirmed, before adding as a clear afterthought: “And that’s the Lieutenant.”  
The man huffed. Slaine regarded the two ghouls with renewed attention. It was impossible to tell their ages, and both of them radiated confidence and composure. She probably more than him, given he was still lounging at the wall whereas she stood perfectly straight, and Slaine had no doubt she was observing him just as closely.

“I heard I have to thank you for approving of Inaho saving me,” he stated politely, and bowed his head slightly. If she was both founder and leader, she was also the one who had established the odd set of rules Inaho had told him they followed, and consequently she was the person of particular interest. “You have my gratitude.”  
“It was his decision, I only learned of it afterwards. But I’m still glad it gave us this opportunity to talk. He said he has told you about our organisation?”

“He told me you’re scavengers and wish to establish co-existence.”  
The woman nodded, taking a step closer.  
“That is true. And co-existence requires co-operation in order to function. As a CCG member, you should be aware of the drop of overt ghoul activity in the wards we’re trying to control.”  
“I am,” Slaine confirmed, cautiously. “But that was mainly chalked up to you just being more careful than the average group.”

“It’s because we try to enforce our policy of not killing humans for food, or ghouls, for that matter,” the Captain explained. “At the same time, we act as a sort of police force for our kind, if you want to simplify it. Just as there’s criminal humans, there’s criminals among our kind, and we try to keep them subdued, while at the same time we protect the innocent from your raids which do not distinguish between the two.”

“I can’t imagine it’s easy for you to convince others of this life style.”  
A moment of silence followed, and Slaine knew he had been right. He had seen the case files on ghouls that clearly hunted for sport with unnecessary violence and sadism, and no promises of merry co-existence would ever get those to stop.  
“No,” the Captain then admitted. “And believing at some point we can live among humans with no incidents occurring would be naive.”

“But as it stands, humans have been killing each other with our involvement, too, and declared war on nations lead by their own kind just as often.” The Lieutenant’s tone was still casual, but Slaine wondered if he had first hand experience. There had been reports of a lot of ghouls joining the military or mercenary groups. Death felt at home on the battlefield, after all.

“What do you want of me?” Slaine asked, deciding to skip the preambles. The leader of this group surely had not come by just to discuss uncomfortable truths Slaine was well aware of. It was a constant elephant in the room during investigations, that sometimes, culprits in suspected ghoul murders turned out to be deranged humans, too. And he now owed his life to the benevolence of ghouls that had promised to not harm him. Yet, there were ghouls that needed to be stopped, and the CCG was the only one capable of this. “If it’s betraying the CCG for you and becoming your informant, I won’t.”

“We were hoping you could act as an ambassador,” Inaho spoke up, and Slaine suddenly wondered how high-ranking he actually was within this organisation, given he seemed to have so much leeway in his decisions.  
“Ambassador?”  
“A messenger, if you will, reporting back to your superiors what you’ve learned about this organisation and our intentions,” the Captain elaborated.

“Even if you’re not lying and I believe everything you say, I doubt my word will count for much. I’m only a Junior Investigator without much influence.”  
It was the truth, and a risk. Maybe them realising he would not be of much use to them after all would have them reconsider the value of saving his life.  
“Your word is more than anything we’ve had so far. We’ll keep up our actions to prove it’s not only empty promises, but we need the CCG to be aware of what we’re trying to achieve, and that we’re not your enemy.”

“Just because you don’t have a lot of influence now, that doesn’t mean it will remain that way, either,” Inaho interfered again. “You’re from an Investigator’s family, and you’re smart and dedicated. I’m sure you’ll be able to climb the ranks rather quickly.”  
It almost sounded like challenge, and Slaine let out a laugh. This whole thing was impossible, from the absurdity of this group existing to the fact that they put their trust in him not betraying and slandering them, but instead try and vouch for his enemy. He could picture how Cruhteo would react to him reporting such a crazy story.

“I’ll try,” he offered as a vague response. He would make no promises he did not intend to keep.  
“That settles it, then.” The Lieutenant moved for the door, but the Captain lingered for a moment longer.  
“One more question,” she began, and the tone of her voice had shifted. Slaine thought it sounded almost hesitant when she continued. “The Quinque you were using when you got hurt, is the ghoul it was made from still alive?”

The Lieutenant froze in his tracks, and Slaine noticed the atmosphere had instantly grown more tense. Inaho’s words came back to his mind, and he tried to phrase his reply as carefully as possible.  
“No, he was killed right back then, and was already dead when my superior found him.”  
“I see. Thank you.”

The woman turned on her heels, gave the man still blocking the doorway a nudge, waking him from his trance, and they both left without a further word. Slaine heard the door close, and felt oddly relieved. He had almost forgotten about the person leaning on to the desk to his right.

“I’ll have to re-do some of the bandages on your ribcage,” the doctor reminded him of his presence at that moment. Slaine felt his pulse pick up as he saw the man set down a bag of medical supplies on the nightstand, next to the first aid kit the siblings had in use. The doctor opened a case holding a variety of metal instruments to retrieve a pair of scissors, and an idea formed in Slaine’s head. “I’d need you to take of your shirt.”

Slaine complied. He noticed that Inaho had stepped closer as well, sitting on the foot of his bed, observing as the doctor started cutting open the bandages. The skin revealed beneath was coloured in seemingly all shades of green and purple, and Inaho let out a hiss that sounded sympathetic. Ghouls were lucky they did not really bruise, Slaine thought with a hint of envy.

“What did you think of our leadership duo?”  
“The Captain seems... intense,” Slaine answered the man’s question somewhat lamely, and the doctor chuckled.  
“That’s one way of putting it. The Lieutenant fears her, you see.”  
“She’s a nice person,” Inaho disagreed. Slaine thought someone like Inaho was probably not afraid of anything.

“Who was it that died?”  
He did not have to elaborate on his question, and Inaho did not avert his eyes, although the contact was one-way, still.  
“Her brother. The Lieutenant’s best friend.”

A heavy silence followed. Slaine suppressed a groan of pain as the doctor carefully applied salve to the bruised area before bandaging it again. It was a welcome distraction, though, because his thoughts had automatically gone back to the feeling of his hands on the weapon’s handle. It was hard to imagine it had once been part of a living, breathing creature, the likes of which he was just talking to.

“What happened to it?” he then asked.  
“I got Sinir to go back and collect the things we left behind since we were busy carrying you. The Captain is currently holding on to your possessions. Don’t worry, you’ll get your badge and wallet back.” Inaho seemed earnest in assuring that, and Slaine held back from stressing losing his wallet was the least of his concerns. He did not ask if he would be given his Quinque and gun, too.

“Alright, I’m finished,” the doctor announced, turning his attention to Inaho. This was the chance Slaine had been waiting for. The black leather case was still lying open, and he did not hesitate to make his move. “It all looks fairly well. I’ll drop by again end of next week, I suppose we can remove the splints then and send the Dove on his way home.”  
“Thank you very much for your help,” Slaine heard Inaho say, and he turned back in time to bow his head at the doctor in silent gratitude.

“Well then, take care, the two of you.” The doctor packed up his things, and for all his alleged sensing abilities, Slaine was relieved to find that apparently, his fast beating heart went by unnoticed.  
“I’ll see you out.”

As Slaine watched the two ghouls leave the room, he let out a long breath. He had managed to get what he wanted without being caught, and yet, the steel of the scalpel he had snatched from the doctor’s equipment felt as if it was burning his skin as he carefully hid it within reach between the bed frame and the mattress.

 

While one maxim Cruhteo had repeated to Slaine over and over again was that one had to act swiftly if one wanted to succeed, a particular guest lecturer at the Academy had given him an entirely different piece of advice.  
_You should never confuse prompt action with rash and headless foolishness_ , Special Class Saazbaum had said. _Depending on the individual situation, it may be better to let one or two opportunities pass before you make your move. Plan ahead and wait for the ideal moment to act, or you might lose your only shot at success._

Slaine was now sure he was not in imminent danger of being killed, and he kept his desire to act at once reined in. Inaho was not to be underestimated, and if he should be up against both him and his sister, Slaine’s slim chance of success dwindled even more. So, he waited, patiently, not even looking at the blade in case Inaho might catch him doing so.

Three days passed in the same succession of routines as before. The siblings came and went at their own pace. Inaho prepared food and asked for Slaine’s verdict and any points of constructive criticism. He worked on his assignments, and occasionally brought up questions for Slaine to consider, _so your mind doesn’t idle_.

Slaine had adapted to all of it, giving friendly replies, and waiting. It came easy to him, and at some points, he caught himself wondering if he was not enjoying this lifestyle a little, genuinely and truly. He tried not to dwell on the nagging suspicion. He felt the state of his body improve with every day, too, a reassuring fact with what he had in mind. His chance presented itself when on the fourth day, Inaho returned home in the morning after a night out, only an hour after his sister had left Slaine, wishing him a pleasant day.

He did not have to see Inaho’s face to instantly know the other was tired and exhausted, it was obvious in the way he moved when he entered the room, pulling up his chair to Slaine’s bedside and letting himself drop on it.

“Good morning,” he said, voice even more monotone than usual. “You look better.”  
“I am,” Slaine replied, his hand already gripping tightly on to the weapon, hidden beneath the blanket.  
“Breakfast will be late today, sorry.”  
Inaho rubbed his neck beneath the hood, and Slaine thought he even saw the other suppress a yawn. He had let opportunities pass him by, and he had been rewarded with the best moment.

“Don’t worry about that.”

He did not waste time on an elaborate technique, he simply let gravity work in his favour, throwing his entire body weight at Inaho, who was too startled to react instantly. The chair toppled over with the sudden shift of balance point, and they both fell sideways, landing on the floor with a dull thud. A ghoul’s Kakuhou was a dorsal organ, and given this position, Slaine might manage to gain the tiniest advantage over Inaho. That was, if he moved first.

He acted without thinking, years of training having long since turned the movements into reflexes. Ignoring the pain flaring up from barely healed injuries, he focussed entirely on pinning the person beneath him in place, scalpel against Inaho’s throat.

Only when Slaine felt the blade meeting resistance, he allowed himself to breathe, and he registered that the fall and scramble on the floor had ended up knocking off the ghoul’s mask. Slaine stilled, staring down at a face that looked so young and normal that it was impossible to reconcile with what he knew Inaho to be and have gone through. It did not fit, right down to the eyes devoid of any traces of Kakugan.  
_He’s not human_ , Slaine reminded himself vehemently, and he was relieved to see his hands were not shaking.

“You can’t cut me with a normal knife.”  
Inaho sounded tired, and almost disappointed. He made no attempt at fighting back, he simply resigned himself to watch Slaine kneeling above him. Even without a mask, his expression was hard to read, with no clear signs of anger or fear on it.  
In a silent reply to the statement, Slaine pressed the tip of the blade ever so slightly into the ghoul’s skin, drawing blood. He saw Inaho’s eyes grow wide, the only testament to his surprise.

“That’s-”  
“I figured a doctor also operating on ghouls would need to have Quinque steel instruments among his supplies. I’ve spent years around my father who owned identical sets, I’d recognise this material anywhere, so I took the liberty to borrow this for some time,” Slaine explained, unable to fully suppress an undertone of victory. He had managed to reclaim his agency. He had successfully struggled free of the role of someone who had to wait patiently until he was either granted freedom or was rescued. He could finish this right here and now, with only one more move of his hand.

In the time he had spent in these four walls alone, he had mentally gone through a variety of possible scenarios, and he had a multitude of reactions to Inaho’s likely counterattacks mapped out. Cornered ghouls usually lashed out in rage or panic, both making them unpredictable but also less focussed than usual, and in their current position, even if slashing Inaho’s throat would not be lethal, Slaine was confident he could manage it before the other managed to unleash his Kagune and fight back. He had been prepared for physical violence and Inaho throwing insults at him. He had not expected what happened instead.

Inaho smiled.

It was a lopsided and slightly quizzical smile, and Slaine completely lost track of his thoughts. This was not how he had anticipated all of this to happen. Inaho’s behaviour was no normal reaction to this kind of situation, and deviations from the norm meant danger.  
He barely registered Inaho’s hand move before he closed it around the scalpel to his own throat without flinching. Slaine could see the blood trickling through Inaho’s fingers, and he did not understand anything as Inaho did not try to push the blade away, instead just keeping it in place, calmly meeting Slaine’s eyes.

“What are you going to do? Kill me or trust me?”  
_Trust me or don’t trust me, that’s up to you, but I’m not lying_. The memory came with the first unmistakeable signs of hesitation, and Slaine wanted to punch himself. There was no reason to wait. Whatever test Inaho was putting him through at this moment, he should not care, all that mattered was that he had the opportunity to incapacitate or kill him. If he trusted him or no was irrelevant. If he liked him or not, if he had enjoyed their time together, if not all had been an act, it should not matter.

And yet, he could not tear his gaze from Inaho’s eyes, which still looked entirely human. Slaine had seen what Inaho was capable of, and by all means, this person should have retaliated by now, the advantage of surprise long passed.  
Instead, he waited, not even readying his weapons.

The realisation as to what that meant was like a slap in the face.  
Inaho trusted him, or at least trusted his conviction that Slaine would not kill him. He risked his life in order to prove his point, and Slaine let out a shaky laugh, feeling his hand drop to the side as if it was not part of his body.

“I can’t,” he said, softly. “I can’t do it.”  
He moved back slowly, suddenly devoid of all the energy and the rush of adrenaline he had felt just moments before, until he was leaning against the bed frame behind him.

Slaine had almost expected Inaho to kill him after this attack - not only had Slaine made clear he was not as complicit as he had pretended to be, he had also seen Inaho’s face revealed - but nothing of that sort happened. Inaho just sat up, the scalpel in one hand, the other pressed to the bleeding cut on his neck. For what felt like half an eternity, they just stared at each other in silence.

If there had been one value Cruhteo had upheld above all in his teachings, it had been that of honour and never leaving scores unsettled. While his father would never apply these principles to ghouls, Slaine could not help thinking that Inaho had seen to his wounds being treated, and never tried to kill or harm him. He owed Inaho, for more than breaching his trust.

“You should stop that bleeding,” Slaine said, struggling to his feet and picking up the first aid kit from the nightstand before sitting down on the bed.  
Inaho blinked at him in surprise, then caught on to the offer. Slaine focussed on preparing bandages, not looking up until he felt the mattress shift with the weight of the person sitting down next to him.

When he did, Inaho pulled his hand back. The wound still showed no signs of healing over.  
“Could I have killed you?” Slaine asked casually, in scientific interest, as he carefully dabbed away the blood and applied a compress. He could feel Inaho’s pulse beneath his fingers, calm and steady.  
“I don’t have a Koukau’s regenerative ability, so I suppose if you’d cut fast and deep enough, I might have died. I probably wouldn’t survive decapitation,” Inaho informed him readily. “Not that I’ve ever tried, that is.”

Slaine looked up from his work to glare at Inaho, who was almost smiling yet again, although it was hard to tell. Mainly, he seemed tired, shadows beneath his eyes making him appear older than the rest of face.  
“I should have cut deeper.”  
He should have, and yet he did not regret his decision as he now wrapped a bandage around the ghoul’s throat.  
“That’s the second time you’ve managed to make me bleed, that’s more than most can say of themselves.”

So the shot really had found its mark, Slaine thought, tying up the ends into a knot.  
“I assume it’s healed by now without leaving a trace?”  
Inaho nodded, and Slaine must have pulled a face, because he then asked: “Would you have preferred it leaving a scar as a reminder?”

“Those of us you injure carry these marks forever, so I guess sometimes it feels unfair.”  
Having finished his work, Slaine pulled back. Inaho automatically reached out to brush his fingers over the bandage. Slaine snatched his hand away, and began cleaning and wrapping the cuts on Inaho’s palm as well.  
“Thank you.”  
Inaho’s voice was low and sincere. Slaine shook his head, more to rid himself of thoughts he could not make logic of than as a reply. “I’m merely repaying a debt.”

Letting go of Inaho’s hand, Slaine demonstratively let himself drop back on the bed with a sigh, staring at the ceiling. He had been warned of being too soft at heart, and here he was, having messed up the one opportunity to kill his enemy, helping him instead. By all means, it made no sense, and he should be more upset about his emotional side getting in the way of things.

Silence stretched between them, and Slaine was just about to ask what had happened to breakfast when a sudden weight fell on his already bruised ribs. He suppressed a hiss of pain and looked down to see Inaho had toppled over from his sitting position. His eyes were closed, his breathing was slow and even, and it took a few seconds for Slaine to realise the ghoul had fallen asleep not only in his presence, but literally on top of him. He could make out the silver gleam of the scalpel at the foot of the bed, and he wondered just where trust and foolishness were crossing a line.

He had already one hand on Inaho’s shoulder to shake him awake when he reconsidered with a deep sigh, resigning himself to the role of Inaho’s pillow. As he listened to the other’s breathing, he relaxed without noticing, until his own breaths were in sync. Somehow, he felt safer in this very moment than he had in years, and Slaine wondered what in the world was wrong with him.


	5. Nachtisch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Nachtisch, der** (noun): _dessert_

By the time Inaho woke up again, Slaine could no longer feel his left arm.  
“Sorry,” Inaho said as he quickly sat up, voice too flat to make sure if he was being truthful or insincere. Slaine just shrugged his aching shoulder, unsure what to reply. Inaho probably did not even expect an answer.  
“Considering the time, I’ll skip breakfast and prepare your lunch”, he simply announced, climbing out of bed. Slaine noticed he did not forget to take the scalpel with him this time.

He eventually followed Inaho into the kitchen once his arm no longer felt numb. Sitting down at the table, Slaine watched as Inaho prepared food, and he belatedly noticed that the ghoul had not even bothered putting the mask back on. He seemingly did not mind Slaine looking at him, which he did at length now. He convinced himself it was so that he could give detail for a composite sketch back at headquarters, but he noticed quickly he was more preoccupied with studying the other’s micro-expressions.

It was a weird silence, and Slaine felt himself grow uneasy. There had been no words on the escape attempt, and no on their accidental proximity, and he was not sure what to make of either.

“Why didn’t you kill me?” he asked when Inaho put a plate of curry in front of him, before sitting down on the opposite end of the table. “It would have been in self-defence this time.”  
“It would have meant wasting all our efforts of getting a CCG member to listen to our concern.”

Slaine almost choked on his food when he started laughing, the tense atmosphere vanishing as if it had never existed.  
“You’re incredibly blunt,” he managed, still laughing.  
“I told you I don’t lie.” Inaho himself kept a perfect pokerface, and Slaine had already thought the topic settled with this reply when Inaho added, in the same matter-of-fact-tone: “Also, I like you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”  
Frowning at Inaho, Slaine realised that he was hardly easier to read now than he had been with the mask in place.  
“Exactly what I said. You’re interesting, and I like that about you.”  
However someone managed to deliver such lines without batting an eye, Slaine could not understand, and he found himself flustered despite his usual composure.

“That- ah, I mean- thanks?”  
"I thought so when we first met, that’s why I hoped you’d listen to our request. You seemed honest, earnest, and compassionate, all qualities I admire.”  
Inaho smiled, now, and Slaine was absolutely sure it was mocking. Before he had opportunity to complain, however, there were steps approaching outside, and moments later Inaho’s sister burst through the doorway.

“Nao, are you alright?! I heard you got into-”  
She stopped short, looking back and forth between them.  
“Your face!” she snapped, followed right by: “Are those injuries?!”

“It’s fine.” Inaho stood up to put his non-bandaged hand on his sister’s shoulder. “I was injured last night, and Slaine was kind enough to help me bandage the wounds. The mask came off by accident, but don’t worry about it, we can trust him.”  
Even from beneath her grey mask, Slaine felt the glare, and preemptively brought his hands up.

“I won’t tell,” he promised, casting a sideway glance at Inaho. Quite obviously, he was a great liar after all, and all promised honesty towards Slaine aside, he seemed to have no qualms hiding the truth from his sister in order to protect Slaine. There was an odd feeling connected to that realisation, but Slaine decided not to dwell on it.  
“You’re reckless,” the woman sighed, one hand raking through her long hair.  
Slaine thought to himself that this woman had no idea just how right she was about that.

 

That night, Inaho brought his futon over without so much as announcement or request pro forma.  
“To make sure you don’t do something stupid,” he simply stated, and Slaine just sighed, pulling up the covers and turning to face the wall.  
“Do what you want, it’s your room.”

A long time passed, and from Inaho’s breathing pattern he could tell that the other was as awake as he was.  
“What happened last night?” he asked into the dark of the room, not quite sure if he wanted to hear the answer. “Your sister sounded worried.”  
“I got into a fight with an Investigator,” Inaho confirmed his suspicion, and Slaine gritted his teeth.

It had been so easy to forget for a brief time, the fact that after all, they were still members of enemy factions, and no matter how much Inaho trusted him, and how much Slaine should choose to trust him in return, this sort of thing would still happen.  
“Did you-”  
“I didn’t hurt him badly.” Inaho’s voice remained calm and even. “They’re closing in on our territory, so it’s important you speak to them sooner rather than later. In the meantime, we’ll try not to hurt any of them if we can help it.”

Slaine turned around, but in the windowless utter darkness of the room, he could not make out Inaho, or anything else, really.  
“They’re making a move against Deucalion now?”  
Inaho’s answer was both what Slaine had wished to hear for weeks, and what he had come to fear at the same time.  
“They’re coming for you, Slaine.”

 

Slaine was abruptly woken when Inaho’s sister burst into their room, already dressed in the Deucalion’s gear and obviously agitated.  
“The Captain’s just called, there seems to be movement near the highway by the station, a whole squad, at least!”  
Slaine saw Inaho sit up, frowning.  
“That’s sooner than expected. What does she want us to do?”  
“Mislead them to make sure they won’t find any of the hideouts.” The woman turned her focus on Slaine, and her tension was infectious. “She’ll send someone to come and escort you back to some CCG branch office, in the meantime, stay here, or else you’ll end up getting crushed in between.”

It was both a warning and a promise, and Slaine just nodded.  
“You’re supposed to meet with the girls in half an hour, I’ll go check in with the Lieutenant now. Please take care.”  
Inaho’s sister tossed her brother a bag, and gave a final wave in their direction before leaving.

“The CCG?” Slaine asked, just to make sure, watching as Inaho got up, remaining at his bedside.  
“Yes. I’m sorry this will be unprofessional, but we don’t have more time.” Without a word of warning, he pulled back Slaine’s blanket. “Please don’t move.”  
Slaine had opened his mouth to inquire what Inaho was thinking he was doing when he noticed the other’s eyes change, black bleeding into white, and Slaine froze in place.

He had never seen a Kagune activation this up close, and Inaho moved to cut too fast for him to register much before all was already over. The splints had been split neat along a straight line in the middle, while not the tiniest scratch was visible on the skin beneath, and when Slaine looked back up to Inaho’s face, he was met with brown instead red once more. For a moment, Slaine could do nothing but stare, wondering about this level of control and precision. Then Inaho held out the bag to him demonstratively.  
“Your clothes,” he explained, “washed and all.”

“Thank you.”  
Slaine took it, refraining from instantly checking on the contents, instead watching how Inaho now moved on to the closet.  
“Be careful, Inaho. They are not as easily fooled as you might think.”  
“I know.” Inaho turned his head back to give him the faintest trace of a smile. “It doesn’t have to be for long. I’ll be alright.”

While Inaho got dressed, Slaine carefully removed the broken casts. The limbs felt and looked weaker than before, but he could move normally, and that was what mattered. He would return home on this day, he realised, and the relief spread in his body like warmth. At the same time, there was a thought lurking int he back of his mind, a damper to his excitement.

“This is goodbye, then.”  
He looked over to Inaho, who now appeared like one of the many Slaine had been trained to defeat no matter what. He held the mask in his hand, ready to move out, and Slaine wondered if he would ever get to see the other without it again.  
“I’ll miss your company,” Inaho said, quietly but unmistakably. Slaine wanted to say _So will I_ , but he could not manage the words. He had the sudden urge to reach out once more, non-hostile this time, but he could not do that, either. Instead, he just smiled.

“Don’t get yourself killed, Inaho.”  
Inaho returned the facial expression, seemingly all relaxed and optimistic.  
“I won’t. Farewell, Slaine.”

 

He realised something must have gone wrong from the sound outside the door alone.  
Slaine was sitting on the bed, dressed and ready to go. As promised, his clothes were in better condition than before, as obviously someone had ironed them who had more experience with that than Slaine, admittedly.

After weeks in comfortable shirts and shorts, suit and tie felt weird, not part of this small universe of the siblings he had ended up sharing. His wallet still held all the cards, passports, and sadly few bills he remembered being in there, and he even had gotten his phone back, albeit with drained battery. His weapons were missing, but that had not exactly been a surprise.

Hearing the uneven steps outside, Slaine slowly got to his feet, keeping his eyes fixed on the door. The Captain had promised some sort of escort, most likely to make sure he would not learn where exactly this hideout was located, but for some reasons, the sound made him uneasy. The person needed multiple tries to unlock the door, and then more or less fell inside alongside it.

Even to a human, the smell of blood was overwhelming, and Slaine felt his pulse pick up as he ran over to the heap of black and red on the floor of the corridor.

He crouched down next to Inaho, unsure where to even try to touch him, seeing how his clothes were soaked with blood and cut open in several places. He settled on pulling him up into a seating position propped against the wall, keeping him balanced by holding on to his shoulders. Some of the blood seeped into the freshly washed sleeves of his coat, but Slaine could not care less.

“What happened?!” he asked urgently, pulling the mask from Inaho’s face, relieved to see at least the other’s eyes still seemed focussed.  
“You need to leave here at once,” he replied, voice laced with pain. “Nina and Calm are waiting down at the corner of the street, they’ll take you to the station. It seems the Doves might be on to this place, so-”

“That’s not what I’m concerned about!” Inaho frowned at Slaine’s tone as if confused. “What happened to you? Are you guys alright?!”  
“Aah.” Inaho hissed as he shifted his position slightly, pressing his hand against a cut on his left side. “We underestimated their fighting power. The CCG sent some very strong people, they must have suspected our headquarters around here. I ended up fighting the one in command, hoping to buy some time. Didn’t quite work out.”

“I can see that.”  
Slaine carefully pried Inaho’s hand away, inspecting the injury. It ran deep, showing no signs of healing, and it was still bleeding profusely. A human probably would already have fainted, he thought, pressing his own hand on the gash.  
“You’ve got scary people on your team. Tall. Dark hair. Hybrid-type Quinque with three different Kagune, first time I’ve seen that. Extremely strong, clearly the strongest person I’ve ever fought, and that includes sparring matches with the Lieutenant and the Captain.”

“That was Special Class Investigator Saazbaum,” Slaine murmured, half in awe and half in terror. “You’re lucky you’ve escaped, he has a near one hundred percent kill rate.”  
A week ago, he would have been overjoyed to hear that one of the most powerful Investigators was involved in this mission, probably with the agenda of helping him, but now that he realised his presence would inevitably mean lethal danger to Inaho and all other members of Deucalion, he mainly felt a paralysing sense of dread. 

“The bleeding’s not stopping.”  
Looking up, he noticed Inaho’s face had gone deathly pale, and his skin was cold to the touch. Slaine did not need the background as son to a doctor to read the signs. Inaho would not be able to clear the place out and disappear in time. He would not even survive the next twenty minutes.

Slaine had to force himself to ask what should just be a normal question, but not under their circumstances.  
“Do you need to eat?”

Inaho tried to smile, but it was more a ghost of the expression Slaine had seen before.  
“I’ve already called my sister, she’s getting supplies from the doctor. She’ll be here in half an hour the soonest, I’ll manage until then.”  
“You’ll have bled to death by then!”

“I’m tougher than you seem to think,” Inaho disagreed, sounding not at all convincing. “I’ve survived up until now just fine, so I won’t die today either. You need to leave, if they find you here like this, you-”  
“If I leave you here to die, your sister will hunt down and kill me,” Slaine interrupted him. “And I doubt even returning to First Class Cruhteo’s side would save me from her wrath. Also, section thirteen sub-section 2 of the Counter Ghoul Law says we should not expose ghouls to unnecessary suffering, so I’m doing my job here.”  
“I’m fairly sure that refers to you killing us off quickly, not helping us when we’re already injured.”  
“Interpreting law is about as important as knowing it.”

This drew a light chuckle from Inaho, but Slaine could still feel blood seeping through his fingers. He knew what he would do before he had even thought about it.  
“I can’t go as long as you are like this. I won’t leave before you’ve eaten and stabilised.”  
“You don’t know what you’re offering.”

Inaho tried to glare at him, but Slaine only huffed.  
“I know perfectly well.”  
He could see Inaho clench his teeth and narrow his eyes in pain and anger. Black was creeping into the white from the edges, slowly, like ink on blotting paper.  
“Don’t say that,” he warned. “You’re not talking about a paper cut or medical blood donation-”

There was no time for this, Slaine decided, and applied more pressure to the wound. Inaho’s complaining went over into a quiet groan.  
“Just so we’re clear, I’m not suicidal,” Slaine stated. He was surprised at how calm he was, considering what was about to happen, as he already rolled up his left sleeve. “I trust you to know when it’s enough.”

“Doing something like that to you of all people completely undermines the organisation’s rules we want you to relay to the CCG,” Inaho tried again, but Slaine sensed that his protests got weaker. “How can we hope to convince them we’re not feeding on living humans when-”  
“I’m not an idiot, Inaho, I’ll find a way to explain my injuries.”

Not removing his right hand from where it rested on the wound, he brought up his bared left arm. Not as many nerve endings as elsewhere, and not his strong side. The muscle was still weaker from the weeks of immobilisation, so really, what was one more damage to it?  
“We don’t have all day,” he urged, seeing Inaho hesitate. When they locked eyes again this time, he was met with a fully realised Kagukan.

“You’re insane.”  
Inaho leaned in closer, and Slaine closed his eyes, steeling himself for the pain that was about to come. He had endured broken bones and cuts during his training and earlier missions, he would endure this, also, especially as he knew what he was doing it for.

It was not his arm, however, but the corner of his mouth that he felt Inaho’s cold lips brush against. Slaine’s breath hitched and he blinked. He found himself up close with Inaho, eyes black and red, expression soft but serious.  
“I’m sorry,” he said, and Slaine wondered what this apology was referring to in particular.  
“Don’t be,” he replied, just as vague.

And as Slaine bit into the collar of his coat to keep from screaming, he thought that all of this should be so very wrong, and yet, it felt completely right, like a foregone conclusion that had been inevitable the moment they had crossed paths back in the factory building.

He was feeling lightheaded and dizzy by the time Inaho stopped, a self-protection mechanism of his body suppressing his sensation of pain, and he barely registered Inaho bandaging the wound. He did notice the second kiss, leaving a taste of his own blood on his lips, and Inaho pulling him to his feet.

“The best way to predict the future is to invent it,” he heard the other’s voice close to his ear as he blinked against the dots in his vision, trying to keep standing with his blood pressure clearly falling. “So, let’s invent a future where we don’t have to kill each other. I’m counting on you, Slaine.”

 

Staggering down the stairs and then unfamiliar streets was a blur in Slaine’s memory, and by the time someone called out to him, he had realised that what he actually wanted was to turn back. He shook off the thought, and followed the two people whose names he had read in a cookbook before without any objections. 

Later, he would not remember much of the first panicked reactions upon his arrival at the branch office, the calls, the shouting, and never-ending questions. He managed to ask about how the operation against Deucalion was faring, and he was informed that the ghouls had retreated before losses had occurred on either side. Slaine sighed in relief, and as the paramedics insisted the cut on his arm had to be treated right away and he should be hospitalised stat, he decided that this time, he would indulge in the luxury of passing out. 

He could deal with all the lies and half-truths later.

 

Slaine fidgeted, wondering if he should unbutton his coat after all. It was the usual minor annoyance that came with winter - while you needed the layers of clothing outside, once you stepped into one of the overheated shops, you felt as if you had walked right into an oven, but taking off and then putting everything back on every time was a Sisyphean labour. Casting a glance at the long line of customers before him, he settled on at least pulling loose his scarf a little.

Another minor annoyance of winter was the increased popularity of coffee shops, apparently, especially now during after work rush hour. Slaine sighed, casting a glance at his watch. He was just calculating if he could still make it to the meeting point in time if things continued at this pace, when he heard some discontent mumbling among the people queueing behind him, and suddenly a hand was placed on his shoulder.

“Ah, I wasn’t mistaken, it’s Slaine Troyard after all,” someone declared cheerfully, and as Slaine jerked around, he recognised the person that had casually cut the line and was just sending an apologetic and dazzling smile towards the people he had overtaken.  
“Good evening, First Class Mazuurek,” he acknowledged with a nod, and stepped to the side so the man could join the queue next to him. “What a coincidence to meet you here.”

“I actually live not far from here, so I occasionally drop by. I haven’t seen you around before, though.”  
“I have business to attend in this district,” Slaine replied vaguely. 

As Mazuurek hummed in response, Slaine eyed his senior from the side. He obviously had just left work, still dressed in the Doves’ trademark white coat and carrying a steel suitcase. Slaine straightened his back a little, feeling the gun holster shift beneath his layers of warm clothing. Not that he would need a weapon where he was going tonight, but then again, Inaho did not grow tired of stressing he should never leave the house unarmed.

“You’re being missed in the field work branch,” Mazuurek continued in a conversational tone, studying the menu on the blackboard over the counter. “Special Class Cruhteo may not say it, but he’s quite upset you haven’t returned yet.”  
“Klancain has graduated early as best of this year’s First Academy by now, and he’s more qualified to join his squad than I ever was.”

“Aah, he’s not the only one, though.” Mazuurek gave Slaine a sidelong glance that seemed just a tad bit mocking. “Special Class Saazbaum would love to have you in our squad, too, you know. You’re quite popular after your impressive feats last year.”  
Slaine smiled politely.  
“Thank you, but everyone is giving me too much credit. After all, I did little more than bide my time until my release. I’ve ended up less of a Dove, more of a carrier pigeon, don’t you think?”

“You’re selling yourself short.” Mazuurek’s voice had shifted to a more serious tone, and he looked contemplative. “It takes a great amount of conviction and mental fortitude to keep working in this job after such an experience, and you have my respect for that. Which is why I’m surprised that even now that your official suspension from field work has ended you’re still staying with the Research and Intelligence Division.”  
“Maybe I just do take more after my father in the end,” Slaine suggested, but he noticed how the other Investigator’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, before he smiled again.

“Well, I obviously can’t force you to join, even though I’m sure it would be interesting to work alongside you. Keep in mind you can pick your squad by now, really. That’s a lucky position to be in.”  
Slaine remained quiet. He could hardly reply that in fact, he was waiting for the opportunity to join a squad that was on the pro side of the current debate whether the CCG should for now just observe Deucalion without engaging in further raids. 

He had conveyed the Captain’s message, but vouching for Deucalion too enthusiastically would inevitably end up casting light on his private connections, so all he could do for now was try and nudge the Ghoul Investigators into the right direction as a member of the Intelligence Division.

The chattering group of high school girls in front of them finally was done buying an estimated year’s worth of coffee, and Slaine stepped up to the counter.  
“One tall Latte Macchiato and one medium Caffè Americano Ristretto, both to go, please.”  
“I assume the second is not for me,” Mazuurek remarked, sounding amused. “And I was about to offer to treat you.”

“I’m sorry, normally, it would be a pleasure, but I have to meet someone.”  
“I won’t keep you.” Mazuurek tilted his head slightly, watching how Slaine paid for the drinks. “Are you going on a date?”  
Slaine almost dropped some of the coins.

“I suppose I am,” he said, feeling a bit awkward, and caught himself rubbing his left arm again. The other man just smiled.  
“Well, then have a pleasant evening, Rank Two Troyard.”

 

“It’s from a different joint this time.”  
“You know, it would be impressive you can tell by sense of taste alone if it wasn’t actually obvious from the logo on the cups.”

Inaho’s face got as close to a pout as possible for someone with minimal expressions, and Slaine laughed, stretching his legs. It was cold enough to have him wonder how long it would take for the coffee to freeze, and he was sure Inaho could tell him down to the minute if he asked. Which was exactly why he did not.

On the upside, with these temperatures, they were the only ones occupying the benches in this part of the park, and in the very unlikely case the CCG still had him under observation both him and Inaho had missed out on, they were at least as uncomfortable and freezing as him.

“Don’t get used to this one. An Investigator lives close by this shop, and I don’t want to run into him more often than necessary.”  
“Why, is it someone you don’t like?”  
Slaine shrugged noncommittally.  
“Any Investigator catching on to this thing between us is a risk I’d like to avoid.”

“’ _This thing between us’_ ,” Inaho repeated, amused. Slaine considered punching him for the smug tone, but since that would have required letting go of the warm cup, he decided against it.

“How is your scar dealing with the cold?” Inaho then asked, all serious again.  
“Ah, it’s okay now. The thermo bandage really helps. Please convey my thanks to Doctor Yagarai.”

Inaho’s murmured “Will do” barely finished before he turned to kiss Slaine. He frowned and pulled back.  
“I told you, you need to stop feeling guilty about this already,” he insisted. “It was my offer and I knew what I was doing, and I can handle the results.”

“It’s a good excuse to kiss you, though.”  
Inaho looked entirely serious about his reasoning, and Slaine smiled.  
“You don’t need an excuse for that by now, do you.”  
“Not really,” Inaho agreed, kissing him again.

**Author's Note:**

> En detail A/N to be found [here](http://regnumcaelorum.tumblr.com/post/127888384168/licht-und-schatten-an).  
> _(:3 」∠)


End file.
